Beatriz

Beatriz and Pasquale stay the night at the Fallen Star, rising with the sun to see the first wave of Cellarian troops approaching from the south. When they meet them, they fall in with Ambrose and Nicolo, leading the way north, toward Hapantoile.

Two dozen riders fan out, scouting for any lone rider who might be heading toward the capital as well, to warn the empress of their approach, but they send no sign that they've intercepted anyone, which makes it all the more surprising when a rider approaches from the west as if the stars themselves are chasing him, heading straight for Nicolo. Beatriz watches, unease growing, as they speak quickly for a moment before Nicolo leads his horse toward hers, falling into step beside her.

"He spotted someone?" Beatriz asks, frowning. The riders were under orders to capture first and question after, but if the messenger managed to escape…

"A few hundred someones, though of course he couldn't get an accurate count," Nicolo says, tension clear in his voice.

Beatriz's stomach sinks lower. Had word managed to reach her mother even before they set foot in Temarin? She knows her mother has spies everywhere—someone in the Cellarian court could have sent word to her even before they'd left the palace. Gisella could have…no, she stops that thought before it takes root. It's easy for her to direct her mistrust at Gisella, and while Beatriz knows that Gisella is more than capable of betraying her again, it serves her no purpose to do so now, secure on her throne, with thousands of her own troops at Beatriz's back.

But someone sent a warning.

"They're coming from the west," Nicolo continues, and Beatriz pulls her horse to a stop.

"The west?" she echoes.

It's possible her mother would send an army to meet them, but if she did, why would she send them around the Nemaria Woods? It would only delay them and put them out in the open, without the shelter the woods provide. It wouldn't make sense. Unless…

"Could they be coming from Temarin?" Pasquale asks from her other side. "Leopold was set on retaking his throne there. Perhaps—"

"I highly doubt he could have done that in the space of a week," Beatriz says. "It's far more likely my mother pulled some of her own troops out temporarily to consolidate her power here."

"What would you have us do, then?" Nicolo asks her. "The scout said we outnumbered them ten to one, easily. If we attack now, before they reach your mother, we save ourselves the trouble of meeting them under less advantageous circumstances."

He's right—the odds will never be better than they are right now, and if her mother does know she's coming, it means they've already lost the element of surprise. They might as well make the most of the advantages they do have. Still, she doesn't like the idea of attacking Bessemian soldiers who are following her mother's orders without knowing to what end. She managed to win over the people of Hilac—perhaps she can do the same with the soldiers, though she knows there's more risk with soldiers than civilians. "I'll lead half our troops ahead, through the woods to cut off their approach, while the rest close in from behind to ensure that no one gets away. Before we attack, I'd like to speak with whatever general is leading them."

A small tent is pitched on the southeast edge of the Nemaria Woods while a messenger rides to the approaching battalion to invite their general to meet with Beatriz, and while they wait, Beatriz paces, a goblet of Cellarian wine in hand, though she barely takes a sip.

She's so close to Hapantoile, she can almost taste the air there. If she got on her horse now and rode at a gallop, she could be at the city gates in two hours. She could be face to face with her sister an hour after that. The last thing she wants to be doing is standing in a tent waiting to negotiate and flatter one of her mother's generals into joining her or to fight a battle that, while she knows she'll win it, will still cost valuable time.

But if Daphne were here, she'd be the first to caution Beatriz against letting her impatience get the best of her, so she forces herself to breathe and takes another sip of wine before turning her gaze to where Pasquale and Ambrose sit on brocade floor cushions, each holding their own goblet.

"They're taking too long," she tells them. "If they were open to meeting with me, they'd have arrived already."

"It's been twenty minutes," Ambrose points out, which can't possibly be right—Beatriz is sure she's been here an hour at least, but when he holds out his pocket watch, Beatriz takes it from him, surprised to see that he's right. Only twenty minutes.

"I really do think it's Leopold," Pasquale says.

Beatriz doesn't want to puncture his hope, but she knows that hope will die soon enough regardless of what she says. It was foolish of Leopold to return to Temarin, and even more foolish of Violie to join him, because she certainly should have known better. If, by some miracle, the two of them are still alive, they won't be leading an army—they'll be fleeing from one.

"If you're right," Beatriz tells Pasquale instead, "I'll owe you a box of Renauld's finest chocolates when this is all over."

Pasquale smiles, his gaze flicking behind her briefly. "Be sure you don't forget the violet cremes—they're my favorite."

Beatriz blinks, momentarily confused, before she turns to find Violie and Leopold standing in the tent's entrance, both looking the worse for wear, but alive and here. Beatriz can't do more than stare at them, shocked silent.

"Well," Violie prompts, and despite the dryness in her voice, Beatriz hears her relief. "We were summoned by Saint Beatriz, but surely that can't be you. If you're a saint, I'm aunicorn."

Beatriz can't help but snort out a laugh. "It isn't my choice of title, but it seems to have stuck."

"It was bound to happen after she summoned a starshower to Cellaria," Ambrose interjects.

"That was you," Leopold says with a grin. "You saved Violie's life."

"She did not save my life," Violie protests, then hesitates. "Though your timing was fortuitous."

Beatriz smiles, stowing that knowledge away for later, when she might be more inclined to gloat about it.

"And you?" she asks, looking between them. "Pas and Ambrose said you were determined to reclaim your throne."

Leopold's face reddens. "I'm determined to liberate Temarin from the mess I'm at least partially responsible for," he amends. He quickly tells them what has transpired since he and Violie separated from Ambrose and Pasquale, and when he finishes, Beatriz can't deny she's impressed. The boy standing in front of her isn't the same one she crossed paths with at that inn in Temarin, with shadowed eyes, shattered illusions, and a broken heart.

"Then our aims are aligned," she tells him and Violie. "I take it our destination is the same as well?"

"Hapantoile," Violie says, nodding. "Our army may be dwarfed by yours, but we'll fight together."

"Agreed," Beatriz says. "But Daphne is in the palace now, with my mother, and when she realizes Hapantoile's under siege, she'll kill Daphne and burn the city to the ground before she surrenders."

Violie considers this. "Then the five of us proceed to Hapantoile alone, disguised," she says. "Our armies stay in the woods, which should serve to hide them for a short while, and we get to Daphne and make a plan that will dethrone the empress while keeping everyone else safe."

Beatriz purses her lips. "I do enjoy a good disguise," she admits thoughtfully. "But we'll need to find somewhere willing to host us—somewhere we're sure the empress has no reach."

Violie exchanges a look with everyone else, and Beatriz feels left out of the loop.

"What is it?" she asks them.

"The Crimson Petal," Violie says.

The brothel where Violie's mother works and lives, Beatriz remembers—the same one Ambrose and Pasquale have received aid from in the past. She nods.

"Then we'll leave as soon as you two are able," she says.

Violie and Leopold exchange a look. "We're able now," Violie says.

Beatriz smiles. "Then we leave now," she says. Hold on a little longer, Daph, she thinks. I'm almost there.