“I used to bring Fidelia out with me to watch the sunrise,” he tells her after a moment. Beatriz glances at him, frowning slightly. He’s mentioned Fidelia quite a bit on these walks, but he’s never told her that. “It was our ritual. She had trouble sleeping too,” he adds, looking at Beatriz. “Usually after this, she would manage to sleep—sometimes until noon, but I never had the heart to force her up earlier.”
“You were a good father,” Beatriz tells him. She might not have any experience with fathers, but she certainly can’t imagine going to her mother when she couldn’t sleep—Empress Margaraux prizes her eight hours of sleep above most things, her daughters included.
“I was, I suppose…until I wasn’t,” he says, his smile turning sad. “It’s a difficult thing, Princess, for a parent to be unable to protect their child.”
Beatriz is aware of the vial of stardust in her pocket. She knows what she needs to do—pretend to lose her footing and then, when he reaches out to steady her, drop the vial into his pocket. It can be done in a matter of seconds. But she is frozen in place.
“I don’t remember my father,” she tells him instead. “He died when I was only a few days old. Rumor has it that he never even held me, or my sisters, because he was so disappointed we weren’t sons.”
Lord Savelle looks at her, surprised. Beatriz is surprised at herself as well—those three sentences might just be more than she’s ever said about her father before.
“I don’t believe your daughter’s death was your fault,” she continues, glancing away and back toward the sun. “If there had been a way for you to protect her, I’m sure you would have found it.”
For a moment, Lord Savelle doesn’t say anything. Finally, he lets out a long breath. “Thank you, Princess.”
“I told you, call me Beatriz,” she says with a soft smile.
He smiles back but doesn’t acknowledge her words. “I received a letter from King Leopold last night,” he says. “Your sister is safe, but there was a riot in the city. The royal family was attacked by a mob of angry peasants.”
Beatriz looks at him in alarm. “But Sophronia is safe?” she repeats, echoing his words.
“She was struck in the back of the head with a stone, apparently. Here, such an injury could have been serious, but I’m told the royal empyrea used stardust to heal her quickly. She’s fine.”
“Thank the stars,” Beatriz murmurs.
“Tell me, Princess—” Lord Savelle begins.
“Beatriz,” she reminds him, but he only smiles before continuing.
“Do your sisters have difficulty sleeping at night as well?” he asks.
Beatriz blinks. “Sorry?” she asks.
“You said you had difficulty sleeping at night,” he reminds her. “I was wondering if your sisters were the same.”
“No,” Beatriz says after a moment. “Well, sometimes Sophronia, but she always says it’s because her mind feels too busy, even when she’s exhausted to her core. For me, it’s different. Night falls and I don’t feel tired at all, but sometimes I feel I could sleep an entire day away.”
“More often lately?” he presses.
Beatriz considers it. “I suppose so,” she says, forcing a laugh. “My body hasn’t quite adjusted to Cellaria yet—it’s bright out longer here, you know. There’s less night to sleep through.”
Lord Savelle makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. “As I said, my daughter had similar troubles,” he says. “Will you come see me if it gets worse?”
Beatriz frowns. “Worse?” she asks.
“I used to have an herbal blend of tea made for Fidelia—perhaps it will help you as well,” he says with a shrug.
Beatriz’s frown deepens. “Why?” she asks before she can stop herself.
“Because I’d have hoped someone would have done it for her,” he says simply. “And because I believe your father would want someone to look after you.”
From everything Beatriz has heard about her father, she doesn’t believe that, but she can’t bring herself to correct him.
The palace’s clock tower begins to chime.
“Ah, I should be getting back,” Lord Savelle says. “I have a breakfast meeting with the king’s council to update them about Temarin’s affairs.”
He turns to start walking back to the castle, and Beatriz feels her chance slipping away.
“Wait!” she says.
He turns back toward her, eyebrows raised. He’s close enough that she can still do it, just as she planned—just a little stumble. He’ll catch her. She’ll slip the vial of stardust into his pocket. It should be easy.
But it isn’t. Suddenly, it feels like an impossible task.
“Thank you,” she says instead.
Lord Savelle gives her a quick nod before heading back toward the palace.
* * *
—
Beatriz tries to put Lord Savelle and his discomfiting concern for her well-being out of her thoughts. She’ll go back down to the sea garden tomorrow morning, she tells herself, and this time she’ll do what she must. Every time she tells herself this, though, she believes it a little bit less. Especially because, as dusk begins to fall, she finds herself getting that familiar tingling in her body, that alertness that tells her she won’t be sleeping again tonight.
If that’s going to be the case, she’s determined that she won’t be bored, and that she’ll keep others up with her as long as possible. Which is why she invites Pasquale, Ambrose, Gisella, and Nicolo to an impromptu dinner on the beach. It turns into a lavish affair, for an outdoor meal, with a silk blanket laid out over the sand, big enough to fit thrice as many people comfortably. The palace chefs have prepared a basket of roasted pheasant, rolls of bread, carrots and parsnips, and tiny pies that fit in the palm of a hand, each stuffed with berries. And, of course, Gisella has managed to secure plenty of wine.
Dinner is consumed quickly enough, the five of them devouring the offerings, but the wine lasts a bit longer. When the moon is high in the sky, Beatriz can feel the energy of the party waning, and Pasquale begins fidgeting beside her. She knows it’s only a matter of time before he suggests turning in.
Which is how Beatriz finds herself explaining the rules of a Bessemian drinking game, Confessions and Bluffs. She played it often over the last couple of years at balls and parties, though she’s never been able to play it with her sisters—it’s a terribly uninteresting game to play with people you know inside and out, after all. But she doesn’t know these people, except perhaps Pasquale, and sometimes she thinks even he seems more mystery than not.
She tells herself that she suggests it for fun, to get to know her new friends better, but she knows that isn’t the entire truth. Her mother didn’t raise her to do things for fun, and she certainly didn’t raise her to make friends. Confessions and Bluffs is a good way to gather information.