Beatriz

Sneaking out of the palace with Daphne, both dressed in the gray wool dresses the palace servants wear, Beatriz almost feels like no time at all has passed. How many times did they creep through the halls and hidden passageways to explore the streets of Hapantoile without their mother knowing? Of course, they always had Sophronia with them, and the lack of her now is stark—a ghost all its own. She doesn't have to ask Daphne if she feels it too. How could she not?

But they don't speak as they make their way through cramped passageways and quiet halls, not about Sophronia or anything else. It isn't until they step into the crisp air outside the palace, the newly risen full moon casting the city in silver light, that Beatriz speaks.

"I wish Sophie were here," she says.

Daphne glances sideways at her as they wind through the paved streets of the city.

"I find myself thinking that at least once every day," she says. "Usually more."

"I've started to…not forget her face, exactly, but it's getting hazier in my memory," Beatriz says, even as shame claws at her for admitting it. Daphne doesn't say anything for a moment as they pass through the bustling crowds of people leaving work.

"I have too," she says finally. "But when I saw you again, I remembered that you have the same smile—not that one," she hastens to add when Beatriz shoots her a smile. "Your real smile—the one that always seems to take you by surprise."

Beatriz drops her smile. She supposes Daphne is right—that smile is the one she practiced in her vanity mirror growing up and honed with the courtesans she trained with to appear flirtatious and guileless while also highlighting the dimple in her left cheek just so. She isn't sure what, exactly, her real smile looks like, but she resolves to find out.

"You have the same eyes," Beatriz says after a moment. "Not just the color—we all have that—but the shape, and the brows."

Daphne doesn't speak for a moment, just follows as Beatriz leads them through the busy streets to the Crimson Petal, where she's never been.

"I spoke with her," Daphne says finally. "In Friv, we had a ceremony for Prince Cillian under the aurora borealis—a Frivian tradition."

"I've heard of it," Beatriz says softly, curiosity warring with more jealousy than she's willing to admit to. The curiosity wins out. "What did she say?"

"She sent you her love," Daphne says, her voice straining. "And she told me I needed to be brave now."

"That was what convinced you about Mama?" Beatriz asks, irritation prickling at her. It doesn't matter how much Beatriz has missed her sister over the last few months, no one annoys her quite as well as Daphne. "Not me, not Violie, not Leopold—"

"No," Daphne says, shaking her head. "Yes, but no. Sophie told me that I already knew the truth, deep down. That I had to be brave enough to see it, to act on it. I was…afraid of what it would mean if you were telling the truth. We built our lives on lies, Beatriz. I was terrified of what would be left when they crumbled."

"And what was left?" Beatriz asks.

Daphne smiles, and Beatriz realizes that in sixteen years of constant company, she's never seen Daphne smile like that, soft and sharp all at once.

"Only when I let the lies crumble could I see what I was truly made of. I used to think of myself as a poison, brewed and distilled by Mama to wield as a weapon. But she's the one poisoning our hearts, poisoning all of Vesteria through us. I won't be her poison, Beatriz. I intend to be the antidote."

Beatriz glances at her sister, noting the firm set of her jaw and the steel in her silver eyes.

"You're terrifying, you know that, right?" Beatriz asks as they approach the town house that serves as the Crimson Petal.

"I do," Daphne says pertly.

"And I am immensely glad that we're on the same side," Beatriz adds, reaching for the brass knocker in the shape of a rose.

"That makes two of us," Daphne says before suddenly hitting Beatriz's arm—hard.

"Ow!" Beatriz exclaims, grasping her arm. "What was that for?"

"Oh! When were you going to tell me you were an empyrea? A sainted one, too, by the sound of it!" she snaps. "That certainly would have been helpful to know."

"Would you have believed me?" Beatriz scowls.

Daphne considers this. "Likely not," she admits. "But that should make defeating Mama much easier—you didn't have to wait for me to do it, you know. Much as I'd enjoy having a hand in it, it would probably be simpler for you to just…" Daphne trails off, gesturing to the sky above.

"Oh," Beatriz says, swallowing. "About that."

She's interrupted by the door creaking open, revealing not Elodia or one of the courtesans Beatriz met earlier but Violie, still in a traveling gown with a smudge of dirt on her cheek. She smiles when she sees them, relief flooding her tired face.

"Beatriz found you," Violie says, ushering them in before the three of them exchange quick embraces in the foyer. "I thought she might be too recognizable in the palace, but she insisted she knew it better than I did."

"Which I do," Beatriz says before wrinkling her nose. "Couldn't you be bothered to bathe while I was gone?"

"I was hardly twiddling my thumbs," Violie retorts. "Besides, surely you can agree there are bigger things to worry about at present."

"I most certainly do not agree," Beatriz says, earning a giggle from Daphne. She'd forgotten about Daphne's giggles—so rare and so at odds with her personality—and the sound seeps through her like liquid warmth.

"Take a moment to bathe," Daphne tells Violie. "I'm afraid we won't be able to concentrate on anything else until you do. The smell is quite strong."

Violie glances between them, glowering. "I already hate dealing with both of you together," she says without any real malice. She turns and starts upstairs. "Their Royal Highnesses are here, and they've ordered me to the bath!" she shouts down the hall as she goes.

"Leopold needs one as well!" shouts back a woman's voice. Seconds later, Leopold strides down the hall toward them, a sheepish smile on his lips.

"Daphne, good to see you're alive," he says, inclining his head toward each of them in turn.

"You too, Leo," Daphne replies. "Would it be too much to ask if you brought assistance with you?"

Leopold shrugs. "Around eight hundred men," he admits. "Which seemed impressive until we saw the troops following Saint Beatriz."

Beatriz glowers at him. "If any one of you calls me SaintBeatriz again, I'll show you just how unsaintly I can be," shesays.

He laughs at her teasing. "Of course, if I could pull stars down from the sky, I might have managed an extra nine thousand as well," he says.

"Go bathe," Daphne tells him. "I won't hug you until you do—I fear Violie already left her odor on me." She sniffs at the shoulder of her dress and wrinkles her nose.

Leopold shakes his head but does as she says, darting up the stairs after Violie.

"There's something between them," Daphne says to Beatriz as they start down the hallway Leopold came from.

Beatriz stops short, staring at her sister in horror. "You're joking," she hisses, starting to walk again only when Daphne gives her arm a tug.

"I don't know if they've acted on it, but it's very obvious."

Beatriz opens her mouth to ask what Sophronia would think about that but quickly closes it again when she realizes she knows the answer.

"Sophie would be happy," Daphne says, as if reading her mind. "She cared for them both very much—when we spoke she had words for them, too."

Beatriz suspects her sister is right, but still. "It's very soon," she says.

Daphne shrugs. "Life is short," she says. "And none of us are guaranteed tomorrow. Sophronia, wherever she is, knows that better than anyone."

Beatriz looks at her, unable to hide her surprise. "I'm not sure who you are or what you've done with my sister, but Daphne would never spout such romantic nonsense."

Daphne lets out a low laugh. "Yes, well…" She trails off, cheeks turning pink. She doesn't need to finish the thought, though. As soon as they reach the room at the end of the hall—a kitchen with a large oak table, Pasquale, Ambrose, Elodia, Avalise, and Bairre gathered around it—Beatriz sees the way Bairre's eyes go right to Daphne, the way Daphne's entire body seems to soften slightly, like a weight has been lifted from her shoulders. A look passes between them that Beatriz can't read, but it sends an unexpected needle of jealousy through her. She and Daphne, along with Sophronia, have always been able to communicate like that, with a mere look. Seeing Daphne share a similar bond with someone else, a stranger to Beatriz, is disconcerting, though the feeling is quickly drowned out by something warmer.

The Daphne she's spent the last half hour with is altogether different from the Daphne she said goodbye to in the Nemaria Woods. She knows her sister well enough to know that no one can change Daphne but herself, but Beatriz likes the person Daphne has become, and Bairre is part of the story of how she got here—a story Beatriz wants to hear sometime.

"Welcome to the Crimson Petal, Princess," Elodia says to Daphne. They've already met, Beatriz realizes when no introductions are made.

"Thank you," Daphne says as she and Beatriz find a space around the table, the two of them shoulder to shoulder. "I was just asking my sister why she couldn't use her magic to defeat our mother, but I got the distinct feeling I wasn't going to like her answer."

"The magic is killing her," Pasquale supplies. "A little more every time she uses it."

Beatriz feels Daphne stiffen beside her.

"I'm fine," Beatriz assures her. "But he's right, it does…affect me. Badly. And it takes me longer to recover each time it does. Aurelia also made mention of a prophecy that makes her think that my using magic to affect human matters like this could lead to the stars going dark, which sounded like nonsense to me, but—"

"It isn't nonsense," Bairre interjects, brow furrowing as he leans across the table. "My mother has her faults, I know that, but her prophecies come true without exception."

Beatriz is surprised at his outburst, but she recalls what Aurelia told her about Bairre—a secret that isn't hers to share with him.

"Be that as it may," she says, shaking her head, "if it comes down to it, I would rather place the fate of the world in the care of the stars than my mother. Thus far, they've proven far more trustworthy."

"Still," Daphne says, "we aren't going to risk your life unless we have to."

There'sthe pragmatic sister Beatriz remembers. She's relieved to see that she's still there, beneath the newfound softness.

"We have nearly eleven thousand troops all together to the south, in the Nemaria Woods," Pasquale says. "We can take the city by force and your mother will have no choice but to surrender."

Beatriz and Daphne both let out an identical snort.

"She won't," Beatriz says. "We know about the tunnel from her bedroom, but I'd wager there are more. If we attack Hapantoile with enough power to intimidate her, she'll run long before she surrenders."

"And besides," Daphne adds, "I'm not keen on using the people of Hapantoile or the troops you and Leopold have kindly sent us as fodder in this fight. That's what she wants—to turn the countries of Vesteria against one another, to sow chaos and distrust and make it easier for her to conquer them. If we manage to win against her only for Bessemia, Temarin, and Cellaria to find themselves at war again, we still lose."

Pasquale frowns, but after a moment, he nods.

"What then?" he asks.

"The fight is with my mother and my mother alone," Daphne says. "Your troops are in the Nemaria Woods?" she asks Beatriz.

Beatriz nods. "Awaiting our word."

"Keep them there," Daphne says. "I'll return to the palace tonight and find a way to lure her there tomorrow. It will be an ambush, over quickly. She'll never see it coming."

"Pity, that," Beatriz says dryly. "Though you can't return to the palace. It's dangerous. You already said you thought she suspected you—"

"She does, but she can't act on it," Daphne says. "She needs me killed on Frivian soil, by Frivian hands. While I'm in Bessemia, I'm safe."

"Are we forgetting the fact that she had me drugged and dragged back to Cellaria?" Beatriz asks.

"No, but she knows better than to try to poison me," Daphne says with a sly smile. "I would never fall for it."

"Are you blaming me for getting poisoned?" Beatriz asks her, incredulous, though she knows Daphne might be right. Daphne knows poisons—how to brew them and how to detect them. She likely wouldn't have gotten herself poisoned.

"I'm saying that Mama knows our weaknesses," Daphne says. "Poison isn't mine."

"You aren't invulnerable," Bairre points out, his voice low and firm.

"No," Daphne agrees with a sigh. "But I know the risks. As do we all. This is one I'm willing to take."

Beatriz opens her mouth, ready to argue—it isn't necessary for Daphne to put herself in that sort of danger, there are other ways to get at the empress, she didn't come all this way to see her sister again just to lose her—but before any of those words make it past her lips, she closes her mouth again and swallows them down.

"There's no arguing with Daphne when she's made up her mind," she says to Bairre.

"No, though I can't say I don't enjoy it when you make a valiant effort," Daphne says. "I can get Mama into the Nemaria Woods tomorrow, and I know exactly how to go about it."

Beatriz frowns. "How?" she asks. "She'll sniff out a lie right away."

Daphne smiles. "That's why I intend to tell her the truth."