Beatriz

Beatriz blinks awake, the darkness that greets her no different from the darkness behind her eyelids, but she feels cold stone beneath her and coarse rope against her wrists, binding her arms to a large, smooth pillar. Marble, she thinks. She blinks a few more times, her eyes adjusting a little more with each blink until she can see vague shapes. More pillars supporting a high arch that stretches farther than Beatriz can see. Long marble boxes covered with slabs line the far side of the space, and though she can't see it from her current position, she knows those slabs are carved with names and dates and carefully chosen constellations, all inlaid with gold. She knows that one of them bears her father's name, and another bears the name of his father before him.

As a child, she leapt from one tomb to another, wooden practice sword in hand while Daphne gave chase, Beatriz laughing, Daphne's brow furrowed deeply in concentration even then, when the stakes were so low. She and Sophronia carried candles to read the names of each emperor who ruled Bessemia, reciting stories about them, some from the history books they read and some made up entirely. Beatriz would tell ghost stories to fit the atmosphere, making Sophronia shudder and shriek with terror and glee.

They're in the catacombs beneath the palace, where the rulers of Bessemia have been buried since the dawn of the empire—not the public memorials erected for them in temples across the country, but their true resting place, where they're safe from grave robbers and vandals. Deep in the bones of the palace where no one can reach them—where few even know they lie.

Movement catches Beatriz's eye and she turns her head, her eyes adjusting just enough that she can make out a figure bound to the pillar beside hers, five feet away.

"Pasquale," she hisses—because it has to be Pasquale. The last thing she remembers is making a wrong turn and ending up in an alley with a dead end, six guards closing in on them.

"I expect my mother wants a word," she called out to them, with more bravado than she felt. "I'll come peacefully if you let my husband go."

"Those aren't our orders, Your Highness," one of the guards said, but before Beatriz could ruminate any more on that, something small flew toward them, piercing her throat like the sting of a wasp. After that she remembers nothing.

A poisoned dart, she realizes now, the faint echo of its sting still pulsing in her neck.

"Pasquale," she whispers again when he gives no response. If it isn't Pasquale here with her, if the guard meant that their orders had been to kill him—

"We aren't dead, I take it," Pasquale groans out.

Relief floods Beatriz, but it's short-lived.

"Not yet," she tells him. "But I can't imagine my mother had us brought to the royal catacombs for tea."

"Is that where we are?" he asks.

Beatriz nods before remembering he can't see her. "Yes, this is where we used to do much of our training—as far from the prying eyes of court as we could be. We played here too, even when we weren't supposed to. It wasn't difficult to sneak in once you knew the way."

"I don't suppose you know the way out?" he asks.

"I do, but I'm assuming you're bound too, and I'd wager my mother took precautions to keep us here. Locked doors. Guards standing outside them."

Pasquale is quiet for a moment as he absorbs that. "Thoroughly trapped, then," he says.

"Afraid so," she agrees. "Violie knows the streets of Bessemia better than I do, though—she and Leopold might have gotten free and gone for help."

"And what about—" he starts, but Beatriz interrupts him.

"Shh," she hushes. She knows he was about to ask about Daphne—likely still asleep half a dozen floors above them. But while the dark makes it seem like they're alone, Beatriz knows better than to assume as much. Darkness can hide many things, she knows, an eavesdropper among them. "Careful what you say," she warns him.

Pasquale seems to catch her meaning, falling quiet for a moment. "But there is hope," he says carefully.

Beatriz smiles, the feel of it sharp. "I'll have hope until I take my last breath, Pas," she says.

"Not much longer, then," a voice calls out from behindthem.

Beatriz tries to twist enough to see around the pillar she's bound to, barely making out the faint glow of a lantern approaching them.

It isn't a voice she recognizes, and as the woman comes closer, she doesn't look familiar either—not much older than Beatriz, with a plain face, plain brown hair pulled back in a severe bun. Plain black leggings with a white tunic and a cloak thrown over the top. But as she steps closer, Beatriz realizes she isn't alone. The woman holds a chain, pulling a second figure along, stumbling in the dark he's unaccustomed to.

"Ambrose!" Pasquale shouts, recognizing him at the same time Beatriz does.

"Pas?" Ambrose asks, looking around in the dark in the direction Pasquale's voice came from.

"Who are you?" Beatriz demands of the woman, who smiles.

"I've gone by many names over the years, but Adilla will do," she says.

The name also catches nothing in Beatriz's memory. "Whatever it is my mother promised you," Beatriz tells her, "it's a lie."

"Everyone lies," Adilla tells her, giving a smile laced with pity that sours Beatriz's stomach. "When you accept that, the truth is worthless. But the empress pays me well and doesn't wish me dead, so if you hope to sway my loyalty I fear it will be a losing battle."

"What do you want, then?" Beatriz asks.

"I brought you a friend," Adilla says, gesturing to Ambrose. She leads him to the pillar on the other side of Pasquale, tying his arms around it and securing his wrists with rope just as Beatriz's and Pasquale's are. Beatriz watches her fingers tie the knot, lit by the lantern she sets beside her while she works. The knot is familiar—one Beatriz herself had to practice. Impossible to untie without the use of her hands.

"And now what?" Beatriz asks when Adilla stands up, lifting her lantern with her.

Adilla shrugs. "I don't know more than I need to," she says, not sounding bothered by that fact. "But the fun won't start until your other friends arrive."

With that, she turns and walks off the same way she came in, humming to herself as she goes, the glow of her lantern getting smaller and smaller before disappearing entirely.