Violie

As the baron's soldiers bound Violie's wrists, panic and fury swarmed her, but only for a moment. They were replaced by satisfaction when the soldiers searched the kitchens and found no cook, no Janellia. The satisfaction turned to smugness when the baron ordered his men to search the inn in its entirety and found it empty.

The baron didn't hesitate in slapping the smugness off her face—she can still feel the ache in her chin where one of his heavy rings collided with her jaw. She can't see her reflection, but she can feel the swelling and the trickle of blood drying on her skin.

"Where is everyone?" the baron snarls at her, shoving her backward into a wooden chair. Without the use of her hands she nearly tumbles out of it, but another soldier is there, yanking her arms roughly back so that they're secured behind the chair, nearly dislocating her shoulder in the process.

Violie doesn't answer the baron. Instead, she smiles. "I don't know what you mean, my lord," she says, her voice coming out sweet and simpering.

A soldier approaches the baron, saying something Violie can't hear.

"Search the village," the baron snaps at him. "I want every house scoured from top to bottom and every man, woman, and child gathered in the square."

The soldier bows his head and hurries to follow the order, but when he reaches the tavern door, the baron calls after him.

"Wait," he says, and though the word is intended for the soldier, the baron's eyes stay on Violie as he steps toward her. He shoves the skirt of her gown high enough to bare the pistol holstered to her thigh, unsheathing it and showing it to the soldier. "And thoroughly check anyone you do find for weapons."

The baron passes the pistol to another soldier nearby as the first slips out the door.

"Well, General?" the baron asks the man. "Is that one of yours?"

The general's face goes a shade paler and he gives a quick nod. "It's one of the pistols that was stolen from our armory, Your Grace."

"By the thieves you were so proud of finally capturing?" the baron asks. "I don't believe it's a coincidence she has it."

The general clears his throat, eyes moving between Violie and the baron. "And…who is she, my lord?"

Violie finds that she's interested in the baron's answer too—who, exactly, does he believe she is? Queen Sophronia's former lady's maid seems the most likely answer, but she can't imagine that alone would have earned her this treatment. Though, given the baron's notorious hatred of Duchess Bruna, perhaps it's merely Violie's association with her that raised his suspicions.

"Do you not recognize her?" the baron asks, a mocking lilt to his voice. "I do hope one of you is wise enough to have the latest dispatch from Hapantoile?"

A few soldiers fumble, hands searching pockets and satchels, but the baron is the one who finally pulls a folded square of papers from his sleeve, unfolding them and smoothing them out on the table. He shuffles though them, and from Violie's vantage point, she can make out letters written in Bessemian, picking out words like border, captured, and attack as he searches for what he's looking for. When he finds it, Violie's stomach drops.

There, taking up an entire page, is an illustration of a woman who can only be Violie herself, from the shoulders up. The likeness isn't perfect, and Violie takes particular exception to the size the artist drew her ears, but Violie sees herself in the image all the same, and she sees the soldiers look from the illustration to her with dawning recognition.

"I hadn't thought about that," the general says, shaking his head. "Of course I saw the dispatch, but the message claimed she and King Leopold were en route to Cellaria."

Violie didn't think her dread could deepen, but at the mention of Leopold, it does. Is there another page with his image sketched on it? She tells herself it doesn't matter if there is—Leopold was always going to be recognizable in Temarin, he knows to keep himself hidden. It's Violie who was supposed to be safe, whose talent has always rested on her ability to disappear into a crowd, to become anyone she needs to in order to get what she wants. An ability that has now been snatched away from her, leaving her vulnerable, visible, and trapped.

"A clever lie, though, about working at the palace," the baron comments, shaking his head. "I very nearly believed it."

Violie laughs; she can't help it—if this is the only card she has to play, she'll play it, even if she doesn't know to what end it will serve her. "That wasn't a lie, my lord," she tells him. "Though I'm not surprised you don't remember me—I don't believe I ever saw you sober in the year I worked in your household, as your wife's lady's maid. If you weren't stumbling around the apartment her brother gifted her, where she permitted you to stay, raving after losing a fortune at the gambling table, you were passed out for days on end, unable even to get out of bed without vomiting all over yourself. How much has changed in a few short months."

The baron's face hardens and his fist clenches at his side, but before he can strike her again, he catches himself. "We all gamble, girl," he says, his voice cold. "And I made the right call when it counted."

"By allying yourself with the empress?" Violie asks, laughing. "I wouldn't go claiming the pot just yet, my lord. The game is only halfway through."

The baron glares at her, eyes narrowing. "I suppose my fool-brained nephew is somewhere nearby?"

The lies spill easily from Violie's lips. "King Leopold?" she asks, blinking. "Last I saw him, he was boarding a ship somewhere east—he didn't care where, so long as it got him out of Vesteria. I did try to convince him to come with me, but, well, you know Leopold—he's never met a fight he hasn't fled from. I think the stars will go dark before he sets foot in Temarin again."

The baron looks at her for a long moment, a sneer curling his upper lip. "You know, I just might believe you," he says slowly. "But if that's the case, what could possibly have brought you back here? Surely not any sort of loyalty to Temarin—the dispatch said you were Bessemian, born and raised, though you speak the language well, I admit."

Violie opens her mouth to answer but quickly closes it again when words don't come. She's always been one to have an excuse or explanation at the ready, but now? The baron is right. There is no other reason for her to be here, fighting against her own people for a country she has no loyalty to. Not one the baron will believe, at any rate.

"Because it's right," she says finally, the words tasting as silly as they do true.

The baron laughs. "Now you even sound like Leopold," he says. "And I'd wager I know exactly where he is—how many soldiers are guarding the prison, General?"

"Four seemed sufficient," the general says after a moment's hesitation.

"Four would certainly be sufficient to keep watch over two sixteen-year-old girls," the baron agrees, cutting a sharp look at the general. "But I fear it was woefully insufficient against King Leopold, the villagers he gathered, and the weapons they stole from your armory."

The general lets out a low curse.

"Never fear, though, General," the baron says, his eyes tracing over Violie in a way that makes her skin crawl. "As the girl pointed out, I'm a gambling man, and I believe we've just upped the ante enough that Leopold will be forced to come to the table."

Violie barely has time to process that before the general nods to the soldier behind her and she's unceremoniously yanked to her feet again. Her mind swims as she's roughly shoved toward the tavern door, the baron at her back and his shotgun pressed between her shoulder blades.

"If Leopold wishes to play at being the hero, let him," the baron says, low enough that only Violie can hear him. "He let his feelings for a girl destroy him once, after all. He'll do it again."

Violie fears he's right, but she manages to keep her expression disinterested. "You might be right, if King Leopold had any feelings for me. But I'm not Queen Sophronia—as you yourself pointed out, I'm a servant and a spy. No one a king would surrender for."

The baron smiles like he knows something Violie doesn't. "I suppose there's only one way to find out, isn't there?"

The pain in Violie's jaw is still sharp, as is the jab of the baron's rifle between her shoulder blades as he forces her to walk ahead of him down the silent streets, but she feels as if she is floating outside her body, watching another girl being marched through a deserted village, knowing that the stranger who wears her face won't see sunrise. Hoping she never sees sunrise, because the alternative is infinitely harder to bear.

Was this how Sophronia felt?Violie wonders. Did she walk across the scaffold to the guillotine feeling like she was watching herself from above, feeling strangely, impossibly at peace with the promise of death looming before her? At least Sophronia didn't die alone—she died with her sisters' voices in her head. Violie thinks that would be comforting, but she isn't sure she wants comfort. And, at any rate, she would much rather die alone, just as she has lived for most of her life. If she dies alone, she thinks, it will be easier for Leopold. It will mean there is less of a chance he'll do something foolish and brave, just as his uncle expects him to.

A part of her isn't sure Leopold won't fall into his uncle's trap without a second thought. He always acts first and thinks later, driven by his feelings rather than logic. She knows he's changed over the past weeks, but thinking about the boy she's been traveling with, the boy who's been at her side through challenges, successes, and failures, Violie knows he's still the same Leopold at heart, the one who screamed at the top of his lungs as he watched the blade of the guillotine fall on Sophronia's neck, knowing the scream put him in danger of discovery.

He feels too much, loves too deeply, and that is a trait Violie couldn't strip from Leopold if she wanted to—and she never wanted to. She just didn't want those emotions to cloud his judgment. As a king, Leopold needs to keep his emotions in check. He can't let how he feels about any one person outweigh his duty to his country. Even if that one person is her.

Violie stops short in the middle of the street, throwing herself backward against the baron and taking him by surprise as her head collides with his nose. She braces herself for the sound of his shotgun going off, the impact of a bullet ripping through her flesh—given where the gun was pressed, she knows it would give her a quick death, but the shot never comes. Instead, she only hears the sound of the baron's nose breaking from the impact of her head, followed by his snarled curse as two sets of hands grab her by the shoulders, forcing her to keep walking.

"Keep hold of her—she's no good to us dead," the baron says, his voice coming out sharp and nasal. Even though her plan to force him to kill her here and now has failed, Violie still takes some pleasure in knowing she injured him, if only superficially.

"That was a valid attempt," he adds as they start walking again. "But you've given away the game now, girl. If you thought to save him from the choice, you've confirmed my suspicion that it will be a difficult one for him."

Violie doesn't answer. Instead she keeps her gaze ahead, toward the low gate and the grain storehouse just behind it. It's a low, squat building barely wider than it is tall, with a sloping, thatched roof. At first glance, it's abandoned, with no sign of armed villagers, a rebel king, or Bessemian guards, but as they draw closer, Violie sees a slumped figure in the shade of the grain house, the Bessemian sigil of his armor glinting in the moonlight.

"Search the granary," the baron barks. "They can't have gone far."

Half the soldiers dash forward to follow the order, one of them pausing to check the fallen soldier, but when he drops the soldier's hand while checking the pulse, Violie surmises he's dead. Unsurprising—if the guard had lived, Leopold would have known better than to leave him there. Unless there are more bodies inside the granary, Violie would wager the other four guards are being kept as hostages.

"No one's inside," a soldier announces, appearing at the granary's entrance, the others at his back. "And the girls are gone."

"That's fine," the baron says, shoving Violie roughly to two of his soldiers, who catch her before she stumbles to the ground. "Tie her up in their stead—King Leopold will be back any moment now, I'd wager."

"I never thought I'd see the day you won a wager, Uncle." Leopold's voice comes from behind them, booming strong and clear even from a distance. He stands on the other side of the gates the baron and his soldiers pushed Violie through, three dozen villagers around him, armed with pistols, shotguns, swords, and even some makeshift household weapons—one woman, Violie notes, holds a fire poker. "Though I suppose there's a first time for everything."

The baron snarls at him. "You've always been a fool, Leopold, but surely you know you're outnumbered—my men are waiting outside the village, and once I—"

"Your men were waiting outside the village," Leopold says, his voice quiet but no less powerful. "Many of them surrendered willingly when they realized who I was and assisted in detaining those who didn't. Which is to say that my men are now waiting outside the walls of the village."

Violie can't see the baron's face, but she's sure he's gone a shade paler. "Be that as it may, I have her." The baron gestures to Violie.

Leopold follows the gesture, his eyes finding Violie's, and in that look, she sees an apology she has no use for.

"You do," Leopold agrees. "If you'd like to discuss exchanging hostages, I have a good many of your men that I could offer to trade—"

"What good are a smattering of soldiers to me now?" the baron interrupts. "When you say yourself you have me surrounded. No, my terms are simple, Leopold: you surrender, or she dies."

Leopold absorbs this for a moment, not surprised—or at least not showing it if he is. He looks at his uncle; then his gaze moves to Violie and lingers.

"It's all right, Leo," Violie says, her words cut off by a soldier shoving her forward, her knees hitting the dirt. She would fall on her face if it weren't for a soldier grabbing her shoulders and holding her in place as a second brings his sword to the side of her neck.

"Violie," Leopold says, the anguish in that single word cutting her deeper than any sword could.

Anguish because he knows as well as Violie does that the bargain the baron is presenting is no bargain at all. Violie told him she was no one to Leopold, and while that isn't true, in the grand scheme of things, weighed against the lives and freedom of Temarin and her people, she is no one.

"I've surrendered too many times already, Uncle, and put my wants and feelings ahead of the country I swore to protect when I took the throne," Leopold says, and though he's speaking to the baron, his gaze lingers on Violie, the words for her more than anyone else. "I won't do it again. Not for anyone, as much as I wish I could."

"It's all right," Violie tries to tell him, but the blade against her throat presses harder and the words die a whisper.

Leopold must hear them, though—or at least understand on some other level—because he gives one final nod before looking to the baron and raising his sword.

"Attack!" he shouts at his army, which pushes forward, flooding through the gate with a shout. With so many voices, it's difficult to understand, but Violie thinks they're shouting For King Leopold. It's the last thing she hears before the soldier's blade cuts through her skin and she falls to the ground, her vision filling with stars as blood pools around her.