Daphne

When the sun disappeared from the sky, chaos ensued, naturally. It didn't help matters that it happened not long before Hapantoile was invaded by not one but two foreign armies, though instead of laying siege to the capital, the Cellarian and Temarinian soldiers aided the panicking Bessemians, helping light lanterns to line the streets and ensuring that each home had enough firewood to last.

Daphne didn't see any of this, but Violie told her about it later, after she led Bairre and Leopold to the catacombs in time to find Daphne holding Beatriz's body, sobbing uncontrollably no matter how Pasquale, Ambrose, and Cliona tried to pull her away.

"She isn't dead," Daphne kept saying, her voice growing more and more hysterical. Some pragmatic part of her believed she was in denial, but a larger part knew it to be true. And when Bairre crouched down beside her and reached for Beatriz, he confirmed it.

"Her pulse is weak," he said. "And her heartbeat is barely there, but she isn't dead."

Not yethad been left unspoken, but together, he and Pasquale carried Beatriz's body out of the catacombs and into the palace, where guards, servants, and courtiers watched them pass in stunned silence.

"Your Highness?" someone asked, the crowd parting to reveal the Duke of Allevue. It took Daphne a moment to realize he was referring to her. "No one can find your mother—people are panicking. The sun—"

"My mother is dead," Daphne told him, her voice sharp. "And if she weren't, the sun would be the least of our problems. It will be temporary, I've been assured. Light candles and have any extras sent into Hapantoile for those who can't afford them. The same goes for firewood."

"D…Dead, Your Highness?" he asks, eyes wide.

"Yes," Daphne says. She can't elaborate further, so she leaves it at that. "We also have need of a physician and as much stardust as is available," she adds. She isn't sure either can help Beatriz now, but there is also the matter of Cliona's hand to see to. Cliona, for her part, doesn't complain, merely holding the stump of her arm, haphazardly bandaged with a strip of fabric she tore from her skirt, as she follows Daphne and the others to their chambers.

"Yes, Your Highness," the Duke of Allevue says as she passes him. "I mean…Your Majesty."

Daphne barely hears his correction, but she hears the words that come next, spoken by the crowd en masse.

"Long live Empress Daphne."

The words echo in Daphne's mind as they make their way to the rooms. Once, being Empress Daphne was her wildest dream—one she would have given everything to see come true. Now it fits poorly, chafing at her skin and making her desperate to tear it off.

She takes hold of her sister's limp hand and squeezes it.

Please be all right, Triz,she thinks.

Daphne stays at Beatriz's bedside all day and all night—only knowing the difference between the two by watching the grandfather clock that stands in the corner. She keeps hold of Beatriz's hand, her fingers on her sister's pulse. The faint thrum is steady—not strengthening or weakening—but with every breath Beatriz takes, Daphne is filled with fear that this will be the moment it stops altogether.

The physician has nothing helpful to say about her state, having no idea what caused it or what to expect, but he sews up Cliona's arm and the gash in her stomach, using stardust to ensure that both wounds will heal without infection.

Daphne's friends stay with her in groups, but no one knows what to say. Daphne is grateful for their silence—there is nothing she wants to hear, after all, apart from the sound of Beatriz's voice.

She remembers climbing into bed beside Beatriz, and she must doze off sometime after three o'clock in the morning, because suddenly, she feels fingers combing through her hair. She blinks her eyes open to find Beatriz watching her, silver eyes bright in the darkness.

For a moment, neither of them moves or speaks, and then Daphne is holding her sister tight, Beatriz holding her back.

"You're alive," Daphne murmurs.

"It seems so," Beatriz says. "Sophronia sends her love."

Daphne pulls back to look at her. "What are you talking about?" she asks.

Beatriz opens her mouth, then closes it again. She peers past Daphne—to the grandfather clock. "It's morning," she says. "There's no time to explain—wake the others. No one will want to miss this."

Daphne grows more and more annoyed at Beatriz as they climb the spiral staircase that leads to the palace's tallest tower, Leopold, Violie, Bairre, Pasquale, Cliona, and Ambrose behind them. Every time she asks her sister what she's doing, she's met with silence, but she's too curious to turn back now.

When they reach the top of the tower, the cold air kisses their skin, the sky still dark though it's well past dawn. It's the first time Daphne has truly seen it, the effect of Beatriz's pulling down the sun, but it takes her breath away. It isn't only the darkness itself, but the absence of any light at all. No moon visible. No stars. Just infinite black as far as the eye can see.

"So this is what it feels like to see the stars go dark," she says to Bairre.

"It isn't the end of the world, though," he says. "And my mother assures me it's temporary—"

"It is," Beatriz interrupts. "Any minute now…"

Daphne frowns. "What do you mean?" she asks.

"It was supposed to be me," Beatriz explains, keeping her eyes on the sky. "The stars I've taken from the sky before, some part of me replaced them, just like Sophronia's star in the Lonely Heart reappeared after she died. But the sun would have required all of me to rebirth—that's why it killed me. Or tried to. But Sophronia took my place."

Daphne frowns. "That's unbelievable," she tells her sister.

"All the same," Beatriz says with a shrug.

It's then that Daphne sees the light—a pinprick of gold against the black sky, a single star. Before her eyes it swells and grows, bathing the sky in pale pinks and blues and lavenders of sunrise, almost blinding in its brightness.

"It's Sophie," Beatriz says, bracing her hands on the ledge of the window and leaning out, offering up her face to the sun's light.

Disbelief still gnaws at Daphne, but she follows Beatriz's lead, leaning out into the light of the new sun, letting it caress her skin. A sob bursts from her lips, and she reaches up to cover her mouth.

"Sophie," she whispers. Because it is. She would know her sister's touch anywhere, and she feels the glow of her presence.

The others feel it too, and when Daphne looks around, she sees them staring at the sun with rapt eyes—even Bairre, Pasquale, Cliona, and Ambrose, who never met Sophronia, are entranced at the sight of it, the feel of it.

"Sophronia's the sun," Leopold says slowly.

"Until the day I die, yes," Beatriz says. "But that won't be for some time yet."

Beatriz catches hold of Daphne's hand, and Daphne squeezes it. "She's beautiful," Daphne says. It hurts to look directly at her, but Daphne can't help trying.

From their vantage point, they can see the townspeople pouring out of their homes, courtiers coming to stand in the palace courtyard, all looking up at the sun, pointing and cheering.

"She's perfect," Beatriz adds.

Perhaps it's Daphne's imagination, but she could swear the sun shines brighter now than it ever has before.