Beatriz

It isn't that Beatriz is ungrateful for the soldiers Gisella loaned her, and she knows that she and Daphne will have a better chance of defeating their mother if they have an army at their back, but five thousand people naturally ride much more slowly than Beatriz would on her own, or even with just Pasquale and Ambrose.

Aurelia met them when they left Vallon with two dozen vials of stardust—not enough to speed their journey by much when divided by more than five thousand, but she uses them on the road instead, wishing for it to be swiftly traveled and shorter than it appears. She has to redo the process every hour or so, and Beatriz is skeptical of the effectiveness of the wish, but by the time they break for lunch, she's surprised when Nicolo informs her that they're approaching the Kellian Forest—they're much farther along than Beatriz thought they would get in six hours' time.

Beatriz and Nicolo dismount from their horses at the head of their party, the road behind them filled with soldiers as far as her eye can see who are doing the same. Pasquale is close enough to give her a questioning look, eyes darting between Nicolo and Beatriz, which Beatriz ignores. Pasquale isn't one to hold a grudge, not even against the person who stole his throne and sent him to be locked away in a Fraternia that was worse than most prisons. But he's slower to forgive Nicolo's conspiring with Gisella and the empress to have Beatriz kidnapped, and even Beatriz still doesn't know what to make of him now. She can't deny, though, that since losing his throne and nearly his life and being exiled by his twin sister, Nicolo is lighter in spirit than she's seen him since they first met. His sister challenged him to figure out who he was, and it seems to be a challenge he's eager to meet.

She wonders if she'll like the man he decides to be, but she doesn't let her thoughts take her too far down that path. Daphne always said Beatriz was a shameless harlot, but she refuses to be a foolish one.

Nicolo continues as Pasquale and Ambrose unpack lunch rations from their saddlebags. "At this rate, we'll be crossing into Bessemia before sundown with another five thousand soldiers meeting us near the border. Which raises an issue."

Beatriz glances at him with arched eyebrows. "You mean the message it will send when I lead an army of ten thousand foreign troops into Bessemia with no warning?"

"The message being war," Nicolo agrees.

"It isn't as if I can hide them," she points out.

Nicolo pauses, looking at her with appraising eyes that make her feel vaguely uncomfortable, like her coat has suddenly turned a size too small. "Couldn't you?" he asks. "If we waited until nightfall?"

Beatriz doesn't answer at first, caught on how to get around explaining the toll magic takes on her, the toll Aurelia believes is killing the human part of her each time she uses it. She's still trying to wrap her mind around that revelation herself, and she isn't keen on sharing it with anyone else. She hasn't even told Pasquale about it yet. She also doesn't want Nicolo to know that magic is killing her. It's bad enough that Pasquale does, that he looks at her with wary judgment every time she mentions using it. Even when she summoned the starshower—saving both their lives in the process—he urged her not to. And there is also a part of her that dreads having Nicolo view her as weak.

"You're new to magic still," she tells him instead, twisting her mouth into a patronizing smile. "But it isn't as simple as it seems, and the mechanics of obscuring more than ten thousand people and horses from view is a lot to ask, even of the stars."

He seems to accept that easily enough, but he holds fast to the point. "Then every village and city between Cellaria's border and Hapantoile will know you're bringing war to your mother's doorstep," he says. "They'll send riders to warn her. We can try to stop them, but it means making enemies of the Bessemian people, of your people. Do you want that?"

Beatriz doesn't. Of course the army is a threat, but not one intended against civilians, only her mother. She knows he's right, though—the Bessemian people are loyal to the empress, and they'll view a threat against her as a threat against them. They don't know who she truly is or what she's done, let alone what she plans to do, so of course they'll see Beatriz as the enemy.

She looks back at Nicolo. "Let me see your map," she says.

As he pulls it from the pocket of his cloak and unrolls it, spreading the parchment over the ground and crouching down beside it, Beatriz beckons Pasquale and Ambrose over, and the four of them huddle around the map.

Nicolo picks up a twig and points the tip at a place just south of the Kellian Forest. "We're here."

The map was made in Cellaria, so not all the towns and cities of Bessemia are marked. Beatriz studied plenty of her own maps growing up, though, and while her mother never took her and her sister on her tours outside Hapantoile, she knows that if they continue straight on to the capital, they'll pass close enough to one of Bessemia's other major cities, Hilac. She takes the twig from Nicolo and points out the approximate location, a plan taking shape in her mind.

"These will be the first Bessemians who see us coming," Beatriz says. "Once we're past them, we'll have the cover of the Nemaria Woods to better hide us. There are smaller villages and towns that might see our approach, but they won't have the resources Hilac does. If they send a rider or two, we'll be able to intercept them easily. But with Hilac, we'll have one chance to change the narrative my mother has spent seventeen years building. We'll have to ride ahead to show them that we come in peace—that I come in peace, as a princess of Bessemia, not an enemy to be feared."

Pasquale's gaze snaps to hers, an uneasy understanding lighting his eyes.

"You and I will go to Hilac, Pas," she says. "I'll talk to the people there before they see our army approaching. I'll convince them we mean no harm."

"It's too risky," Nicolo says. "We should send scouts to try to find another way to reach Hapantoile undetected. It'll mean waiting a few days—"

"No," Beatriz interrupts. "We don't have a few days." What she means to say is that Daphne doesn't have a few days, but Pasquale hears the words anyway.

"Your mother knows your weaknesses, Beatriz," he says slowly. "And she knows that impatience is chief among them. I know you're anxious to reach Hapantoile and Daphne, but you won't be doing her any favors by playing directly into what your mother expects from you."

Beatriz knows he's right.

"And my impression of Daphne, brief as it may have been, wasn't that of someone content to toil away, waiting for rescue," Ambrose adds. "Would she urge you to rush on her account?"

Beatriz knows the answer to that is a resounding no. If Daphne were here, she would recommend caution.

But Beatriz knows that another day of strategizing won't solve the impossible problem of sneaking ten thousand soldiers across Bessemia without drawing notice. Another week of planning wouldn't accomplish that. She takes a moment to weigh the possibilities, the best-case scenarios and the worst. Perhaps it isn't a level of meticulous planning Daphne would be proud of, but those few minutes are more than Beatriz usually spares, and they allow for something Beatriz didn't expect: confidence. She knows her plan is the best at hand, flawed as it might be.

"We need to lean into the theatricality of it. Give them a show," she says, looking to Pasquale. "Young lovers torn apart by a bitter crone is an age-old story for a reason."

"Your mother's hardly a crone," Ambrose points out with a laugh. "What is she, thirty-five?"

"Then we'll spin a story that will make them forget that," Beatriz says, glancing at Pasquale, who gives her a lopsided smile that she can't help but return. Stars, she's missed having him on her team.

With just Beatriz, Pasquale, and five guards, they ride more quickly than they were able to with the army, crossing over into Bessemia while the sun hangs low, grazing the peaks of the Alder Mountains to the west. By the time they reach the farms that sit on the outer edge of Hilac, twilight has just fallen and the farmers are heading in from their fields. Beatriz feels them watching their approach with wary eyes. She can't blame them—the skirmishes that cropped up on the border during King Cesare's reign likely left a mark here.

Silas—who Beatriz determined to be the loudest of their guards—notes their audience as well and does exactly as she instructed him.

"All hail Princess Beatriz of Bessemia!" he shouts, loudly enough that Beatriz half expects they'll hear him across the entire town, but he repeats the shout every few minutes as they draw nearer to Hilac's center, by which point townspeople are pouring out of the houses and shops to watch them pass.

All the while, Beatriz keeps a smile on her face and ensures that it looks natural. She waves at the people she passes, just as she always saw her mother do when she greeted the public. There are few things Beatriz admires about the empress, but she can't deny her gift for working a crowd, and that is a gift Beatriz herself needs now.

"Your Highness," a man says, his voice booming enough to cut through the din of voices. The crowd seems to part around him, and Beatriz pulls her horse to a stop, the others following her lead. The man, who is in his sixties with salt-and-pepper hair and a well-tailored if plain suit, bows to her, but she doesn't miss the confusion and wariness in his expression. "To what do we owe the honor of your visit?"

Beatriz widens her smile. "What is your name, sir?" she asks him.

"Isadore Kerring, Your Highness," he says with another bow. "I'm the Duke of Ogden's secretary."

"Ah, is the duke in town?" she asks, tilting her head. "I haven't seen him since his daughter's wedding, but I heard he since became a grandfather and I would be pleased to offer him felicitations in person."

If Isadore Kerring had doubts about her identity, that seems to settle them. He shakes his head. "Not at present, Your Highness. He's in Hapantoile."

Of course he is. The nobles spend little time in the domains they're responsible for, often passing the running of them on to hired help in the form of stewards and secretaries and bookkeepers. Most prefer Hapantoile and the glamour of court life.

"A shame," Beatriz says. "Though I suppose that means we must rely upon your hospitality, Mr. Kerring. My husband and I are on our way to Hapantoile and hoped to stay the night. Is there a public house you recommend?"

"The Gilded Lily would welcome you, Your Highness!" someone in the crowd shouts out.

"No, the Fallen Star has better wine and softer beds!" someone else adds.

"Princess Beatriz," Mr. Kerring begins, looking uncomfortable. "Please, I'm sure the duke would insist you avail yourself of his manor just outside of town—the maids can have it ready for you in a short time—"

"Oh, that's really unnecessary, Mr. Kerring," Beatriz assures him. "Not with such an excellent selection of public houses already open and available." She glances at Pasquale. "I believe we should eat our supper at the Gilded Lily and book rooms at the Fallen Star," she says, loudly enough for the crowd to hear—the last thing she wants is to offend one of the innkeepers. Pasquale inclines his head in agreement. As they rode, she warned him that the people of Hilac would likely have a poor opinion of Cellaria following the recent clashes between their countries at the nearby border, and he agreed to let her lead the conversation.

Hilac isn't a large town, but still she'd guess there are about a hundred people on the streets around her, with more figures appearing in the windows of the buildings nearby. "I'm so grateful for your hospitality," she says to them.

"And I would like to thank you all with a beverage of your choice from one of the public houses."

The offer sends a cheer through the crowd, and Pasquale gives her an impressed smile. Getting people to hear her out in exchange for a drink is the easy part, though. The real challenge lies ahead.

The Gilded Lily is decently sized but not nearly large enough for the crowd that is already queueing outside its doors by the time Beatriz and Pasquale arrive, dismounting from their horses and passing the reins to one of the guards.

"Two of you can stay outside the doors," Pasquale tells him and the other four guards, keeping his voice low. "But we need the other three to wait on the perimeter of the town, keeping watch for anyone who might make an attempt to reach Hapantoile before we do."

Beatriz knows the order is practical. No matter how persuasive she is, the chances of every single person in Hilac believing her are small. She keeps hold of her smile and she and Pasquale make their way into the Gilded Lily, past the crowd waiting for entry, who shout her name as she goes.

The interior of the public house is warm and cozy, with a large fire burning in the main room and a long banquet table with benches that Beatriz estimates would seat around fifty people.

"Not to worry, Princess Beatriz," Mr. Kerring says, coming in from another room that Beatriz would guess is the kitchen. "I've spoken to the innkeeper and he's assured me the crowd will be kept out until you depart."

"That isn't necessary, Mr. Kerring," Beatriz says. "I offered to pay for their drinks in large part because I wished to get to know the people of Hilac, and I wished for them to know me. Please tell the innkeeper to seat as many patrons as he has the space for."

Mr. Kerring's nervous eyes dart to the table, then back to Beatriz. "You wish the people to…join your table, Your Highness?"

"I would like nothing more," Beatriz says.

Mr. Kerring looks like he might be ill. "When your empress mother visited us last, she stayed at the duke's residence. Surely you and Prince Pasquale would be more comfortable there as well?" he says, an obvious plea for her to do the same.

Beatriz would wager that the appearance her mother put in here in town was kept short and the townspeople kept distant. She might have given a speech to express her affection for the people, but the words were prewritten, by someone else's hand, and spoken to a crowd en masse. Beatriz's way is different, but that will make her words harder to ignore.

"I confess, I have a fondness for a good meal at a public house, Mr. Kerring," she tells him. "And getting to speak with the local population is a bonus. If you don't feel comfortable relaying my wishes to the innkeeper, I'll gladly do so myself."

Though Beatriz keeps her voice pleasant, she sees the flicker of fear in Mr. Kerring's eyes and finds it gratifying. He gives another jerky bow and starts to turn back to the kitchens, but Pasquale's voice stops him.

"Lord," he says.

"I…I'm sorry?" Mr. Kerring says, glancing back in confusion.

"It's quite all right," Pasquale says. "We travel more quickly than gossip, it seems, but I've relinquished my crown and title, so Lord Pasquale will be more than suitable."

More bewildered than ever, Mr. Kerring nods and scurries off to the kitchen.

Pasquale must feel Beatriz's eyes on him, because he turns to her and shrugs. "What? You pointed out they'd be less inclined to trust me—and by extension, you—because of past dealings with Cellaria when my father ruled. I thought to distance myself from him further. I'd have just asked him to call me Pasquale, but I thought that might actually give the man a heart attack."

Beatriz isn't sure he's wrong about that.

Ten minutes later, Beatriz is seated in an armchair the innkeeper dragged to the head of the banquet table despite her protests, with Pasquale in a matching chair at the other end. The first fifty or so people in the queue outside have been let in, taking seats around the table while the innkeeper's wife fills their glasses with wine, ale, or a nonalcoholic blackberry cider that Beatriz herself elects—she'll have to give this speech several times tonight and she needs to keep her wits about her.

Beatriz exchanges a few minutes of small talk with the people closest to her—a blacksmith and his wife on one side, a seamstress and a butcher on her other—before she gets to her feet and lifts her glass.

"I'm grateful for the hospitality you've shown my husband and me today—but I'm sure you're wondering why we're traveling to Hapantoile." She feels the attention of the room, of even the innkeeper, his wife, and the cook peeking out from the kitchen to watch.

On her way here, she considered how best to win the townspeople over, how to spin the story just right, what to leave out, what to include, but in the end she's decided to tell them the truth, even the parts of it that aren't flattering to her.

So she tells them about the training she and her sisters underwent growing up, how they always knew they would marry the princes they were betrothed to, but that the marriages were a means to an end in the empress's plans. She leaves out Pasquale's attraction to men and his relationship with Ambrose—that isn't her story to tell—but she does talk about her magic, how the discovery thrilled and terrified her. This close to the border, the people must have seen the starshower over Cellaria. They must have wondered what it meant.

She tells them about Sophronia, about how kind her sister was, though she suspects everyone in Bessemia knows of Sophronia's kindness, even if they never met her. She tells them about her bravery, too, how Sophronia was the first of them to defy their mother's plans, how her last words to Beatriz and Daphne were that she loved them all the way to the stars. She lets the people feel the loss of Sophronia, feel the pain that still lances through Beatriz when she talks about her.

"My mother is as responsible for Sophronia's death as if she'd operated the guillotine herself," Beatriz says, ensuring that despite the soft tone of her voice, every last one of the fifty people at her table hears her clearly. "And once she succeeded in that, she turned her attention to Daphne and me, going so far as to drug me and send me back to Cellaria, to marry the new king there, though as you can see, my husband still lived. You saw the starshower I brought down on Cellaria two nights ago—a miracle, people say, though it is difficult for me to see anything miraculous with one sister dead and the other in my mother's clutches in Hapantoile. That is why I petitioned the newly crowned Queen of Cellaria for her help in saving Princess Daphne and making my mother pay for her crimes. Together, we are going to Hapantoile with an army at our backs and the stars lighting our path to save Daphne and all of Vesteria from my mother."

She lets the words sink in, though she suspects that if Daphne could hear Beatriz talk about her like a helpless damsel in a tower she would have quite a few protests. But Beatriz knows it's an effective ploy. She sees the tension ripple through the crowd, the disbelief giving way to fury in their eyes.

Finally, someone speaks—a woman at the center of the table, not much older than Beatriz, with coils of blond hair pinned atop her head and pensive blue eyes. "What are you asking of us, Your Highness?"

Beatriz understands the wariness in her voice—wariness she sees reflected in the faces of nearly everyone at the table. She might have a lot to lose by standing against her mother, but she has everything to gain as well. The people of Hilac and Bessemia at large stand to gain nothing if the empress is out of power. But if her mother triumphs, she will seek out every person in Vesteria who helped Beatriz and Daphne and punish them for it.

Yes, these people are right to be wary.

"Nothing," Beatriz tells the woman. "My mother is a dangerous enemy—no one knows that better than I do—and I know that our efforts against her may fail. If they do, I won't have you suffer the consequences. All I ask is that when our army passes by tomorrow, you don't see them—stay inside your city, behind its high walls. Do not venture out as you normally might. Because if no one sees them, no one will be obligated to send a warning to Hapantoile."

"And if your efforts don't fail, Your Highness?" the woman presses.

For a moment, Beatriz is confused. "I'm sorry?" she asks.

"If everything you've told us is true, Princess, it makes Empress Margaraux a terrible mother, but it does not make her a bad empress. Our taxes are lower than they were under your father's reign, the trade routes negotiated with the rest of Vesteria have caused the economy to flourish, and with the exception of some clashes with rogue Cellarians near the border, war hasn't touched us while she's been in power."

Beatriz opens her mouth to answer but quickly shuts it again when she realizes she has no rebuttal. She knew that her mother was popular with the Bessemian people, but she attributed that to charisma and all of her mother's many masks. Beatriz sat through countless council meetings that bored her to tears while her mother and her advisors discussed tax codes and treaties, but she hadn't truly considered that her mother was well liked as empress at least in large part because she was good at it.

"You aren't wrong," she tells the woman after a moment. "My mother has been a good empress to you and I'm glad she has been, but do you believe that your taxes won't rise when she declares war on the rest of Vesteria? When she has to rebuild three countries she destroyed in order to conquer? Do you expect that in seizing Friv, Temarin, and Cellaria when they are at their weakest you won't be facing war on all fronts for the rest of your lives and the lives of your children and their children?

"I've lived among Cellarians for much of the past few months, and I guarantee that even if she manages to take Cellaria, she won't hold it easily. You believe the Cellarian skirmishes on your borders have been bad in the past, but they'll only get worse. And as for trade—will you be able to purchase wheat from Temarin when war razes their fields? Furs from Friv when all their hunters are forced to turn their weapons against invaders? And do you believe Cellaria will be able to purchase anything from you when their own economy is left in shambles?"

The woman has no answer to that, but Beatriz doesn't expect one. She looks over the table, meeting the eyes of anyone brave enough to look back at her. "My mother has been a good empress, yes," she says slowly. "But only because it has served her interests. Only because the support of the people of Bessemia allowed her to keep power when most of my father's court turned against her. But make no mistake—when she rules over all of Vesteria, she'll no longer need your support to keep her in power. So ask yourself this—if she has no loyalty to her own daughters, to children she carried in her womb and raised for sixteen years—why do you believe she would hold any loyalty toward you?"

Beatriz feels the discomfort in the room and she knows her words have landed with many of the people listening.

"And you would?" the same woman asks.

Though Beatriz feels her irritation with the woman start up, she knows it isn't fair. It's a question the rest of the room is thinking, surely, but this woman is the only one bold enough to ask it.

"What is your name?" Beatriz asks.

The woman lifts her chin. "Brielle," she says.

"Brielle," Beatriz repeats. "I confess that my sister and I haven't had the opportunity to discuss who would rule in our mother's place." That, Beatriz realizes as soon as the words leave her mouth, followed by uncertain glances and silence, is a misstep. She hurries to correct it. "But both of us are loyal to Bessemia."

"So you say, but did you not go along with your mother's plots until you realized they would affect you personally?" Brielle asks.

Now Brielle really is irritating Beatriz, though she suspects that's because there is an uncomfortable amount of truth in her words.

"If I might interject," Pasquale says from the other end of the table, the first words he's spoken since they sat down. "I've been lucky enough to meet both remaining princesses of Bessemia, and as someone who saw from quite close what a terrible ruler looked like, I would like to tell you about the loyalty that Beatriz and Daphne have exhibited these past months.

"I've heard it said that Princess Daphne is the most like the empress, and I believe that is true in many ways. She's every bit as cunning and intelligent as her mother, but while Daphne doesn't bestow her loyalty lightly, when she does it is unfaltering. When Sophronia's maid fled the siege in Temarin after Sophronia was executed and sought help from Daphne in Friv, Daphne provided it. Even when Queen Eugenia sought to have the girl executed for treason, Daphne stood by her, believing the story of a servant over that of a queen."

That, Beatriz knows, is not what happened in Friv, but she can't help but marvel at how well Pasquale spins the story, keeping it close enough to what happened while changing the details that will raise more questions than they answer. And she knows that the crux of what he's saying is true—Daphne did believe Violie's word over Eugenia's in the end, and few people in her position would have done the same. She sees that story ripple through the captive audience as well, all of them far closer in station to a servant than a queen themselves.

"And Beatriz," Pasquale continues, lifting his glass of blackberry cider to her in a toast. "As someone lucky enough to have Beatriz's loyalty, I can tell dozens of stories of times she has demonstrated it, even when it has cost her dearly. She freed a jailed friend who was falsely arrested by my father. She saved me from being imprisoned in a Fraternia against my will after my cousin usurped my throne. And even now, when most people facing the threat she does from her mother would run as far from Bessemia as they could, here she stands—marching to confront an empress who has tried to kill her twice before, to save not just her sister but all of you as well, whether you recognize the danger you are in or not."

He pauses, his gaze sweeping the table, and lifts his glass into the air. "Bessemia would be blessed to have either one of them on her throne," he says. "So let us toast now to the future empress of Bessemia, whoever she will be. To the future empress."

For a painfully long moment, no one moves. Then Brielle lifts her glass. "To the future empress," she says.

Her words break the spell of silence hanging over the rest of the table, and one by one, everyone else raises their glasses. Including, Beatriz notes, Mr. Kerring.

"To the future empress."