Daphne

Daphne stands in front of Eldevale Castle's main entrance, alongside King Bartholomew, Bairre, Leopold, Violie, and a dozen courtiers, including Cliona and her father, waiting for the empress's imminent arrival. The frigid winter air whips through Daphne's black hair, mussing the elegant updo she asked her servant to arrange it into, and Daphne clenches her hands into fists to fight the urge to smooth it down again, knowing it will be a losing fight and she isn't sure how many of those she can survive today.

A messenger appeared while they were eating breakfast to announce that the empress would arrive in the next fifteen minutes, and Daphne forced herself to take five more bites of her porridge before getting to her feet, even as the food curdled in her stomach. She refused to show how much her mother's arrival unnerved her, not to anyone, not even Bairre, who watched her closely throughout breakfast and even now keeps glancing at her sideways as if she is an equation he's anxious to solve. But that would mean letting him see the dark and desperate girl who both loved and hated her mother, who was determined to destroy her and yet, mortifyingly, still craved her approval like drought-stricken earth craves rain, and Daphne couldn't stomach that.

So she doesn't meet his gaze and instead keeps her eyes trained on the open gate.

She hears the sound of approaching hoofbeats before she sees the horses that make them. Ten guards on proud white horses, decorated in Bessemian blue regalia, enter first, followed by two blue enamel carriages pulled by more white horses; then, finally, the large gold carriage Daphne knows contains her mother. Another ten guards trail behind, the gate closing at their backs.

Daphne keeps her eye on her mother's carriage as it reaches the steps to the palace, pulling to a stop. A footman Daphne vaguely recognizes jumps down from his perch beside the driver and opens the door.

A dainty gloved hand reaches out of the shadowy carriage, each finger ringed with jewels, taking hold of the footman's proffered hand before Empress Margaraux steps out into the pale gray winter light.

For a moment, Daphne feels as if she is looking at a stranger—her mother is taller than this woman, isn't she? She looms larger, an immortal figure who has the power to destroy with a single look. But the woman who stands before her now doesn't stand quite so tall, and in the stark light, Daphne can see the wrinkles creasing the skin around her eyes and mouth. Most surprising of all, when her eyes meet Daphne's and that unmasked fury briefly flashes through them, Daphne finds herself wholly undestroyed.

The woman before her isn't an infallible goddess with the power to damn and absolve, she's just a woman—a powerful one, certainly, but Daphne supposes that since the last time they were face to face, she herself has come into power of her own. They are meeting here and now as equals, and if the empress doesn't know that yet, she will.

Daphne makes her way down the steps, holding the hem of her silver velvet gown up to avoid tripping and summoning a bright smile. "Mother," she says, pitching her voice loud enough to be heard by the gathered audience of Frivian courtiers and the entourage her mother brought, who Daphne knows are watching from the windows of the two smaller carriages. Violie is following a step behind her, and if she's nervous about the ruse and how the empress will respond to it, it doesn't show. "It's so good to see your face again," Daphne says, coming to stand before the empress and taking hold of her cool hands.

The empress surveys Daphne, looking at her like she's seeing a stranger—and not one she likes—before glancing over her shoulder to Violie and narrowing her eyes slightly. For a moment, Daphne holds her breath. Logically, she knows her mother has more to lose than anyone by proclaiming Violie a fraud, but what if she and Violie miscalculated? What if—

"Oh, my darling girls," the empress says, suddenly squeezing Daphne's hand with one of hers and reaching toward Violie with the other. "I feared I might never see you again."

She releases Daphne entirely, turning fully toward Violie and reaching a gloved hand up to lay her palm against Violie's cheek. Daphne sees the flash of horror cross Violie's face the second the empress touches her, but it's gone so quickly she doubts anyone else does—at least apart from the empress herself.

"Sophronia, they told me you died—I thought—"

"Oh, Mama," Violie says, her voice coming out loud enough to be heard by all. "I thought for sure I wouldn't survive, but…oh, it is such a story, and you've had quite a journey. Come inside, King Bartholomew has had a room prepared for you."

Violie gestures to where King Bartholomew is waiting at the top of the stairs, Bairre and Leopold standing on either side of him. As Empress Margaraux approaches, all three bow deeply.

"Your Majesty," King Bartholomew says, taking the empress's hand and bowing low over it, brushing a polite kiss over the back of her hand. "Welcome to Friv."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," the empress replies, dropping into a deep curtsy. It occurs to Daphne that she's never actually seen her mother curtsy, has only seen her be curtsied to. "And thank you as well for keeping my daughters safe in these troubled times."

"Both Daphne and Sophronia are credits to you," Bartholomew tells her, earnest and oblivious to the performances being enacted around him.

"Are they?" the empress drawls, eyes moving between Daphne and Violie. "How nice to hear. I would like the opportunity to catch up with my daughters—somewhere warm, perhaps," she adds, pulling her ermine cloak closer.

"Of course," Bartholomew says, bowing his head again. If he's offended that the invitation wasn't extended to him, he gives no sign. "I'm sure there is much for you to discuss, given all that's happened. I'll have refreshments set up in the library—it is the warmest room in the castle, and I'm sure after your journey, that's precisely what you need."

"Very thoughtful, King Bartholomew," the empress says with what Daphne recognizes as her demure smile—chin tucked down, looking up at him from beneath her eyelashes, a small curve to her lips. Daphne has seen that smile wrap council members and ambassadors around her finger—she's sure that her mother once used that smile against her father, too, that it's at least one small part of why she is now empress.

King Bartholomew isn't immune to it either. His cheeks turn faintly pink as he bows again, ushering the empress inside.

A round table has been set up in the library, just in front of the roaring fireplace, and set for three people, with a teapot and a plate of small, frosted cakes in the center. The three chairs surrounding it are typically Frivian in their sparseness, and Daphne knows even before the empress lowers herself into one that she'll find them wanting.

"I think I'd rather be back in a stars-forsaken carriage," the empress mutters as Daphne and Violie join her. "Now," she says, her voice snapping as Daphne reaches for the teapot and begins to pour for everyone. "Tell me what, exactly, is going on here. Who else knows she's a fake? I suppose Leopold must—I'd heard he was dimwitted, but even hewould notice if his wife were replaced with a servant," she adds, motioning toward Daphne and Violie. "Does King Bartholomew? Prince Bairre?"

"The king doesn't, but Bairre does," Daphne says with a broad smile as she pours tea. "He was quite instrumental in pulling off this charade—you ought to thank him, Mother."

The empress's penetrative gaze moves to Daphne and lingers. It's always been difficult to see much of anything beneath the placid exterior her mother puts up, but Daphne thinks she might see a flicker of uncertainty.

"Explain," she says—or rather, commands.

"Queen Eugenia betrayed us," Daphne says, launchinginto the story she and Violie concocted late last night with some help from Bairre and Leopold. A story her mother will likely not believe, but one solid enough that she won't be able to call it a lie outright—not without revealing truths she would rather keep hidden. "She was responsible for Sophronia's death—Violie witnessed her pulling a pistol on Sophie before turning her in to the rebels she was working with."

"So she claims," Margaraux says, eyebrows arching and gaze darting back to Violie, who, for her part, meets her stare unflinchingly. "Eugenia wrote to me with a similar story about you, claiming you were the one who betrayed Sophronia," she adds, motioning to Violie with her free hand while taking a sip of tea with the other. "Convenient that Eugenia is now dead and unable to defend herself."

Violie opens her mouth, and Daphne has learned enough about her over the last weeks to know she is about to say something brash—a temperamental slipup the empress is no doubt trying to instigate. "I had my doubts too, when Violie first approached me with this story," Daphne admits, drawing her mother's attention back to her. "But Violie didn't try to kill me. Eugenia did."

This time, there is no mistaking the flicker of surprise in the empress's face as she sets her teacup down in the saucer with a clatter.

"I'm fine," Daphne assures her, reaching out to lay her hand over her mother's, intentionally misreading her surprise as maternal concern. "I told you about the attempts that were made on my life. Another was made, and this time the assailant was kept alive long enough to point the finger at Eugenia."

"Confessions under torture—" the empress begins, withdrawing her hand from Daphne's.

"—aren't to be believed," Daphne finishes with a knowing smile. "Yes, Mother, you taught me well in that. But this particular confession pointed me in the right direction, and after some…snooping, I discovered letters between Eugenia and a man named Ansel, who Violie remembered as the head of the Temarinian mob that killed Sophie."

"Letters can be—"

"Forged, I know," Daphne interrupts again. "But I trust my ability to tell a forgery from the genuine article, and you should too, given the education you provided me. I know I'm no Sophronia in that area, but I'm more than competent."

The empress's mouth tightens, but she inclines her head in a nod.

"There were other letters," Daphne continues. "But unfortunately, they were written on verbank paper and crumbled in my hands."

Daphne watches her mother's face carefully, but she gives no reaction. Daphne doesn't need one to confirm what she knows, though. Violie saw enough of those letters in Eugenia's things to know they'd been sent by the empress. It was proof that the empress and Eugenia were working together, even if they crumbled before she could read more than a few words. But the empress knows exactly what those letters said, since she wrote them, and Daphne and Violie have planned a way to use that knowledge against her.

"That is the troubling bit, I confess," Daphne says with a sigh. "While most of the letter crumbled, I did see the address, or rather, part of it."

"Oh?" her mother asks, still not troubled. She has no reason to be—according to Violie, she used an alias.

"The letters came from Bessemia," Daphne says. "It seems someone there is working against you, Mother. Conspiring with Eugenia to kill Sophronia, and trying to kill me as well. For all we know, they're targeting Beatriz next—I'd hoped she would be joining you so we could see that she's safe. She is in Bessemia, is she not?"

The empress's lips purse. "She is not," she says slowly. "I finished negotiations with the boy currently on the Cellarian throne and we reached an agreement. Beatriz will be crowned queen there before the end of the week."

Daphne fights not to look at Violie, even as the information wedges beneath her skin. Daphne hears what her mother doesn't say, how she makes no mention of Prince Pasquale, doesn't even pretend that Beatriz went to Cellaria of her own volition. Perhaps she worries that Daphne or Violie will see through the lies, or perhaps she simply doesn't care enough to construct convincing ones.

"How wonderful," Daphne says, forcing a smile she hopes looks real. "Though if I'm right, she is in grave danger there—"

"If you're right," the empress says coolly. "And you still haven't explained this charade," she adds, waving toward Violie, who seems content to sip her tea and let Daphne steer the conversation. Which is just as well, Daphne supposes. She likes Violie, and trusts her, but at the end of the day there is no one whose abilities she believes in more than herown.

"Violie saved my life," Daphne says, launching into the lie she and Violie crafted—one that hews as close as she dares to the truth of Eugenia's death. "She uncovered a plot that Eugenia and her maid were planning to kill me with septin mist—I was on my way back from Lake Olveen at the time, but they were ready to put the plan into motion as soon as I returned. Violie snuck into Eugenia's rooms one night to recover the poison, and Eugenia woke up and called for her maid, who attacked Violie, causing her to spill the septin mist and…well…you know how septin mist works."

"The maid died on the spot," Violie clarifies, which is true, but it was Violie wielding the septin mist, intent on using it to assassinate Queen Eugenia. She'd been in Eugenia's bedchamber, the mist container open, when the maid entered suddenly, startling Violie, waking Eugenia, and ruining everything. "Eugenia and I both inhaled less, leaving me unconscious for a day or so and Eugenia awake but bedbound. I was, of course, arrested."

The empress's dark brown eyes cut between them, skeptical but silent.

Daphne jumps in to finish the story. "When I returned and realized what had happened, the truth seemed…imprudent to divulge, but when Leopold came to me, confessing his true identity and begging me to save the girl who had saved his life and now mine, I was powerless to refuse."

"Did you try?" the empress asks dryly.

Daphne falters for an instant, some deeply buried part of her shriveling at the derision in her mother's voice.

"You instructed me to find Leopold, Mama," Daphne says pointedly. "If I had refused his wish, he would have fled. Saving Violie kept him here. I sent word to you, but I assume you and the messenger crossed paths on your way here."

"Hmm," the empress says, taking another sip of her tea. "And you?" she asks Violie. "What did you tell her?"

Violie offers the empress a bland smile. "Everything, of course," she says, and there is a brief flash of uncertainty in the empress's eyes about what everything entails. But those are cards Daphne and Violie are keeping close to their chests for now, and they decided it's best if the empress believes that Violie is still loyal to the empress. So Violie settles for half-truths. "That you worried for Sophronia's sake, that you feared she was too vulnerable to survive in the Temarinian court alone and sent me to watch her. That I failed in that, and did my duty in bringing Leopold to Friv."

The empress's brow furrows just slightly, but Daphne knows she can't question Violie's story in front of Daphne, not without revealing that Violie's true mission was quite the opposite—to ensure that Sophronia did the empress's bidding even when her conscience objected, or else do it for her. But the goal is for the empress to believe that Violie is on her side, and that she is keeping Daphne on her side as well.

No doubt the empress will seek Violie out for a few words alone, to find out why Leopold is alive at all and why Violie has brought him to Friv rather than Temarin. But one matter at a time.

"I'd heard you were having trouble maintaining your hold on Temarin," Daphne tells the empress—a bluff, but an educated one. The empress herself has always said that taking a country is easy, holding it is harder. And Daphne sees the words find their mark in the way the empress's mouth tightens. "Now I've given you Sophronia back and both of us have earned Leopold's loyalty. As you said, he isn't the sharpest sword in the cupboard—it will be easy enough to convince him to officially cede control of Temarin to you and then escape to some far-off island to live the rest of his days in exile, so that your reign can go on, unchallenged."

The empress is quiet for a moment, but Daphne can practically hear her turning every facet of the story she and Violie have spun over, searching it for flaws, noting how they fit together. After what feels like a lifetime, she smiles the sortof smile Daphne has never seen from her before, a broad, beaming grin that reaches her eyes, almost making her glow. Daphne feels as if she could bask in the warmth of it forever. "It seems you've thought of everything, my dove," she says, the sort of words Daphne would literally have killed to hear her mother say to her. The empress leans across the table and lays her hand on Daphne's cheek, her touch cool and dry. "I am so proud of you."

As Daphne smiles back demurely, it occurs to her that the words she's dreamt of hearing from her mother for so long sound more like a threat than a compliment.